Tales From Dutch Harbor
Original fiction inspired by the TV show Deadliest Catch.
Warnings: Adult language, Adult situations if you're offended by profanity and /or smut, probably best to stop here and read someone else's stories.
The Captain glanced down from the wheelhouse watching his crew as they cavorted down the dock, headed toward The Last Chance. He picked up the intercom and yelled out, " And Reilly - don’t forget to get a fucking haircut!" The youngest crewman had almost been injured when his long brown hair had broken free from his pony tail and whipped across his face. Temporarily blinded in the gale winds, he paused to clear his face of hair and just missed getting hit by a breakaway winch. The captain watched the older crew members pepper the younger Reilly with harmless jabs and was glad the young man hadn’t been injured. He watched his crew scampering away, the wind swallowing their for letter bantering and smiled, as sure of the salty language as he was of their names. A part of him longed to be a part of that camaraderie, but the sensible part, the captain part, knew it was impossible. Now was a time for separation. A time for the crew to be away from him even if only for a few hours. They worked hard and played harder. They needed to recover from the brutal weather and endless hours of work. He had pushed them hard the last trip out, but mother nature had pushed harder. Had there been even one day when it wasn’t blowing 40 knots with temperatures below 20? Lesser men would have quit. Lesser men would have collapsed or started a rebellion, but his crew, like most crab crews, had just got tougher. The vile conditions forced them to bond together in a way nothing else could. They had cursed him long and loud and cursed the crab too. In the end, the results had been worth it. They were now a happy crew with a pretty penny in their pocket off to raise hell.
The captain wearily ran a hand thru his wavy grey hair, time to get back to work. He read another catch report and signed his name, clearly but boldly at the bottom, Capt. J.P. Sullivan. Three hours later, with a short stack of paperwork finally finished, payroll entered and work orders ok’ed, the captain headed for his quarters for a shower, a fresh change of clothes and then a good hot meal, one not prepared on his boat.
As the crew from the Irish Mist headed towards the Last Chance, they were greeted by Yvette and Gwen, two long time hookers who worked the docks in Dutch Harbor. Reilly took one long hungry look at the two women and immediately forgot about going to Last Chance. "Ladies," he drawled, would you do a duet?" The rest of the crew howled, but the ladies just grinned knowingly and each put an arm around Reilly while one whipped out a cell and called for a nearby taxi.
Willy Whiskers, the eldest crewman on the Irish Mist, watched with a glum look as he pulled on his thick grey whiskers and said, "Captain ain’t gonna be happy about that. We’re supposed to look after him."
Gino Falcone, a crewman for 3 years on the Irish Mist, slapped Willy on the back and laughed, "Don’t worry about Reilly, Whiskers, if’s he’s old enough to go crabbing, he’s old enough to get Gwen’s crabs." The rest of the crew howled in agreement and started a game of what else was Reilly old enough for. Whiskers joined in and added "I guess if’s he’s old enough to get paid, he’s old enough to get laid."
"Don’t worry, Willie, it was just Yvette and Gwen, they’ll keep him safe."
Willy Whiskers nodded, then added, "I just hope he’s back before the Captain shows up."
The grin quickly left Gino’s face, as he had considered that, "Roger that, Willy, Roger that."